A Simple Thing
by Lady Azrael
Summary: A simple thing could forge a relationship beyond hate and prejudice. Featuring a slightly lost draco, who finds himself in Harry. Slashy romance ensues.
1. Prelude

**Title:** A Simple Thing **Author name: **Lady Azrael **Author email: **kirazangel@yahoo.com **Rating:** PG-13   
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
  


In other words, I'm just borrowing them so I could play with JK's characters. Don't sue poor uni students all you might get is my textbooks. 

Prelude Draco 

His story. There was a time when I struggled; fought tooth and nail even, to resist becoming part of his story. The Boy Who Lived, the spotlight following his wake like a damned _umbrius_ curse. The Boy who pulled everyone around him into his world, who would become the saviour, the hero. Who was, already, since he was born. 

I digress, that's history. Everyone in our world knows that. Every witch, every wizard knows the story of the shining wizard. Like all stories that everyone knows though, there are parts of the story left out, because it doesn't fit neatly with the fairytale. Real life is a lot messier.   
  


Like how he never really wanted any part of it; how he would have given all the magic at his disposal for a normal life lived happily and boringly with his parents. How his eyes are much more beautiful than his mother's, how sometimes they are so sad, so deep, and so green it makes you want to cry (not that I would _ever_ admit it, not even under crucio). How his skin is smooth and cool to the touch and much too pale from being locked up under a cupboard for eleven years. 

Really. I must learn to start things from their proper beginning. Yes. There once was a boy with a certain quality that made him the leading man. The Greeks would have made him the prince, or the tragic hero. In our world, he's the symbol of hope in the face of despair. To me, he was a messed up child who was too blind to see beyond the end of his wand. Literally and figuratively.

I did try. I didn't want to be a supporting cast in his life, like Weasley or Granger (Yes I guess I'll have to call them by their names now). In the end however, it was a futile gesture. Or maybe it was futile from the beginning. For I guess I had been part of his story from the beginning, though then in the role of the antagonist. Not the villain, oh no, not as important, but a challenging obstacle in his life. However, I doubt that either of us would have imagined ending up this way.

In the end, I was pulled towards him, like particles gravitating towards a black hole; if a black hole can be a goddamned heroic Gryffindor at the same time. I could not escape his attraction, even if I wanted to (and I suspected I didn't want to anyway). From the beginning of the seventh year, the universe conspired against me. I found myself slowly but irresistibly entangled in the story of Harry Potter.

Author's Notes:

Umbrius comes from the Latin: umbra, - ae meaning shade or shadow. In the context the spell means something like: to follow like a shadow.


	2. A Simple Plan

**Title:** A Simple Thing **Author name: **Lady Azrael **Author email: **kirazangel@yahoo.com   
**Rating:** PG-13 **Warning: **This is a slash fiction. That is a male/male relationship. Don't read it if the idea disturbs you.   
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Chapter 1 ~ A Simple Plan

Draco stared into the dark corridor. If anyone were around to see him they would be surprised at the uncertainty on his face. Dark corridors, though undoubtedly would make first year students nervous, were not uncommon in the maze that is Hogwarts. It certainly should not frighten a veteran seventh year such as Draco. However, no one was around to notice that Draco hesitated on the threshold of the darkness, as if entering that particular corridor was a life changing decision.

Which it is. In some way. That morning Draco had received an owl from his father, Lucius, the embodiment of calculated grace. The parchment was old and looked authentic. Like it was made from dried flayed pig skin. Well, Draco hoped it was a pig's skin anyway. It smelt faintly of old death, but it was the cool, succinct lines written in Lucius' beautiful handwriting that has chilled Draco to the bone.

'My dear Draco, 

_ My felicitations on reaching your adulthood. As for a suitable present, you know that nothing will be denied to you once you have made your wish known. _

_ I need to impress upon you this special occasion. We Malfoys have marked this coming of age with a special rite. Now it is your turn. To prove our loyalty and fealty to our Lord, he has a simple request...'_

Draco's heart sank with every word. His father is right, it sounded simple enough. Nothing really to challenge his ingenuity. What troubled him was that he was disturbed by those instructions. He found his reluctance surprising. Draco has always prided himself on being the perfect model of his father. A Malfoyette. 

_Father is always right, and he loves me. He has given me everything, and he will give me anything I want_. Ignoring a little voice that said: not everything. 

***************************************************************

So here he is. About to sneak into the Gryffindor dorm rooms for something as mundane as stealing a personal item of Potter's. After a day spent going through the motions (Alchemy, Advanced potions, Arithmancy), and thoughtfully planning over lunch (He hoped no one noticed his preoccupation, no one did). 

All he had been able to come up with was pretending to be sick (no points for originality but 10/10 for effectiveness) and thus missing dinner in the Great Hall, giving him a chance to pocket whatever falls under the qualification of 'personal' from Potter's room, hopefully unseen in the meantime. 

So far he fobbed off dinner with little trouble. Only a whiny Pansy had expressed disappointment that she wasn't able to hand feed him the dessert. _Thank Merlin_. Draco thought as he shuddered. Crabbe and Goyle merely asked if they could have his share. Ah, they're dependable in their predictability. 

He obtained the password from a twittering mousy fifth year Gryffindor. _Yeah right, like I'd ever visit _your_ dorm at night_. A little flirtation that also served as an excuse to be in the Gryffindor dorm room if he were caught. He would be severely reprimanded to be sure, and given possible detention, but at least he wouldn't be expelled (or worse) for 'intentions to harm' Dumbledore's golden boy. 

Now that he was actually here, however, Draco has lost some of his certainty. 

_Q: What if Potter isn't at dinner? _

_A: Yeah right as if a Gryffindor would miss a meal._

_Q: What if I can't find anything personal?_

_A: You can always steal his broomstick. The way he rides it, it must be personal._

_Q: What would father do with it?_

_I'm sure he has a good reason for wanting it_... And there Draco's thought shied away. 

As certain as his hatred was for Potter. He wasn't sure how he felt about Potter actually being dead. He doesn't know what ending he hoped for. Maybe that Potter would change sides. It sounds silly in the harsh light of reality, but wasn't that what he secretly wanted all along? For them to be on the same side? 

An echo of his own words flashed through his mind. _'You picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you!' _Well he had tried. It had never came out the way he thought it would, though, thinking back on the subsequent responses he had gotten. It invariably ended with him being unconscious throughout the entire journey home, revived by an unamused Lucius, himself burning with humiliation and hurt embarrassment. 

What had he hoped to achieve? In his daydream fantasies (that he will never admit to himself), maybe Potter would look at him with something other than disgust, maybe he will say: "Yes I see now Draco, you were right all along. I should have picked your side. I should have been your friend." 

Dreams were less silly, Draco decided, when you are having them. It's a stupid dream and he knows it. In the real world, they will forever be enemies, and maybe Draco will be the one that leads him to his death.

He walked along the corridor that led up into the Gryffindor tower. 

************************************************************

Potter's space in the dormitory wasn't all that distinguishable from the three surrounding his. The bed was neatly made by the house-elves. The rest is as messy as the room of eighteen-year-old boys through out the world. Draco guessed he was just surprised that there wasn't any outward indication that this was the dorm of the famous Harry Potter. Perhaps he wasn't expecting a giant flashing sign that read: 'Potter sleeps here', but he hasn't been prepared for this lack of, well, possessions. There were no adoring fan mails littered over the place, enclosed with swooning pictures of fan girls. There weren't any medals awarded to the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die hanging on the walls. 

(If pressed even Draco wouldn't be able to tell you why he thought what Potter's room would look like this, or why he thought about Potter's bedroom at all)

All Potter's things were inside several trunks the size of what Draco would pack for a weekend stay at a Tropical Resort. Taking out his wand Draco did a simple unlocking spell. "_Aperio!" _lipping through Potter's stuff was strangely uncomfortable. Even though there was a lack of any personal trinkets (Doesn't this boy own _anything_ besides school stuff and sets after sets of plain black robes? And what _is_ that hideous sweater?), it nevertheless felt as if he was looking into an aspect of Potter that he did not really want to see. 

Draco mentally sorted through the items:

_Textbooks? No way._

_Equipment? Not personal enough. I doubt Potter use his cauldron anyway. _

_Robes? Looks like everyone else's._

_Underwear? I can just imagine handing that over to father. NOT!_

He reached the bottom where a shimmering cloak and what looked like a photograph album lay. Draco didn't feel right about taking something as beautiful as the cloak away to be ingredients in whatever his father had in mind, so he picked up the album, and flipped open the leather bound pages. 

A picture of a smiling couple with a little baby waved at him. Draco could not help staring. They were no doubt Potter's parents, with a baby Potter looking incredibly cute. What struck him was how happy the couple looked. Undignified, unashamed happiness beaming from every pixel, with no idea of what the future holds for them and their son. It made Draco a little sad, and a little envious at the same time.

How long he would have spent poring through the pictures, he never knew, for the voices of unexpectedly returning Gryffindors drifted up the stairs.

************************************************************* 

"I'm telling you Hermione; you don't _need_ to prove that to Ron at this very moment. We believe you alright? Actually, what I want to know is, why do you have to drag _me_ from dinner to prove your point?"

"First of all, Ron is such a _git_. He knows that it can't be true and I just want to shove the text in his face ok? Secondly, I need you because I lent my copy of Hogwarts – A History to you, remember? I'm not going to get it from your room by myself."

"Honestly. You know, you two fight like...don't glare at me that way... you know it's true. I wish you would just get it out of your system already."

"I'm not the one who needs to get a clue, Harry. And don't get me started on getting something out of your system. Or about coming clean. I mean, you haven't told Ron have you?"

"Don't start 'Mione. I just don't know how to tell Ron. He's too much of your average bloke... you know...too...umm...straight as an arrow."

Draco could hear the twin pearls of laughter that followed. That somehow broke the trance-like way he was listening to the conversation. 

_Shit. _

He had to get out of there. Fast. Draco did not want to think about what would happen if he were caught here. In Harry Potter's dormitory. 

What happened afterwards Draco would eternally blame on the lack of food in his stomach and therefore short supply of oxygen to his brain. The Slytherin way would be to nonchalantly walk into (_damn, what was her name again?)_ well, her room and then sneak out at a more convenient time. 

However, the very thought of being in the same room with a Gryffindor girl for an extended period of time – hell, probably trying to keep her hands off him the entire time – nauseated him. 

There was nothing for it. The sound of conversation and laughter was drawing closer. Draco could almost imagine the way the sound would drift, twisting up the staircase. A moment of hesitation, and Draco wrapped the leather bound album in the silk he had brought along, held it tightly in his arms and threw open the Gryffindor tower window. 

A gust of wind greeted him. _Oh for Merlin's sake. I so should have gotten someone else to do the dirty work; then again, I would not trust Crabbe or Goyle to pass the salt. _Draco reflected on the bitter irony that a pureblood wizard like him was forced to scamper up the roof tiles (he hadn't climbed any building since he was six years old) and hid on the rooftop of the tower. Holding on to an album full of disgustingly happy dead family pictures. _At least it's not raining._

....................................

"Harry, close the window! It's pouring out there."

"Sorry Hermione. Woah that rain was sudden. I don't know who left the window open though."

"Never mind that. Now where did you put my book? I can't find it anywhere near your night stand."

"Er well, 'Mione, that's because it's not on it... Er... Here...

"It's buried under you textbooks. Oh god it's buried under your _potions_ book!"

"Well, you know me and my potions book...

"What took you two so long?" Draco heard the Weasel's voice joining the conversation. "Dinner is almost over, and you've missed the best chocolate pudding."

"Oh _honestly_ Ron...

***************************************************** 

_ This must be purgatory. Is this my punishment?_ Was Draco Malfoy's thought as he spent the evening alone huddling on the rooftop in the rain, listening to three Gryffindor friends' gentle bickering.

To Be Continued...

Author's Note:

I should make a public service annoucement right now: this _is_ slash, so please spare yourself and don't read it if it's not your cup of tea.


	3. Interlude In which Harry Potter fills i...

**Title:** A Simple Thing  
**Author name: **Lady Azrael  
**Title:**A Simple Thing  
**Author name: **Lady Azrael  
**Author email: **kirazangel@yahoo.com   
**Rating:** R for language, adult scene and situations.  
**Warning:**Spoiler for the series including Order of the Phoenix.   
This is a slash fiction. That is a male/male relationship. Don't read it if the idea disturbs you.   
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Interlude ~~ In which Harry Potter fills in a few gaps

Harry

When did things start to change? Probably the summer of my fifth year. After Sirius died. After a year of adolescent frustration and anger ; at myself, at the world, at being kept in the dark and treated like a child, while other people decided what was best for me. I guess everyone goes through that stage sometime in his or her life. Some briefly, or perhaps more peacefully. If I were any ordinary boy maybe it would have just been that, a phase, to be looked back on with amusement. 

As everyone keeps reminding me, my life is far from ordinary. So that unfortunate time of my life got blown out of proportion. People around me paid a heavier price. Even to this day, there is a part of me that cannot forgive myself. That summer was worse spent alone with the Dursleys while I was wrapped up in denial and hatred and emptiness. 

I guess the day you accepted the world was not a fair place, was the day you shed one more layer of your childhood. I don't think I woke up one day with the sudden illumination, but I realised I knew it was true, one day, when I watched a dying pigeon, after being hit by a car in the process of greedily consuming food in the middle of the road.

I'm really not great with expressing this thing called grief. There's much to be said about suffering silently. It just hurt. Especially since I was beginning to hope that I could escape from the Dursleys to live with my Godfather, like every orphan's dream. To be taken away from living hell to another world where my _real _family awaits me. It seems I am doomed to this disappointment. Now, all I can do is dream how it would have been. 

What had Dumbledore once said, that death is just another adventure? I dreamed of Sirius then, returned to his youthful good looks in death, being lead away by a girl in black holding an umbrella. He must have a rollicking good adventure then. I woke up with tears (thank God that Rita woman will never know), but I was able to mourn him properly, and let go.

So I learnt to get on with the process of living. In my sixth year. A little older and just realising how much I didn't know. No longer quite so angry or so moody. I found that people stopped being quite so careful around me, and I in turn grew more comfortable in my own skin. My sixth year also yielded a more profound revelation about myself. Some clue to my utterly disastrous (and thankfully short) relationship with Cho. I'm just not good with girls. 

I'm rambling. Anyway, if there was a day, which you can point a finger and say: that was the catalyst. That was what started it all. Then it would be the evening when I discovered that something precious was taken from me. Those photos were the only reminder I had left of a real family, it tore open a wound I had almost forgotten, and enraged me more than I could have ever believed. 

Author's notes:

I decided that since not only will I have to write this story I'll also have to read it (more times than anyone else), I'll only write what I find ...fun'. *Picturing Victorian writers roll over in their graves* . Any suggestions for improvement are greatly appreciated. 

Why did Draco have to suffer? All because I had a lovely picture of him in my head, sitting on a tiled tower roof hugging a leather book in the rain, while through closed windows there is a fire and friendly talk. 

Next Chapter: 'A duel, and conversations'


	4. A duel, and Conversations

**Title:** A Simple Thing

**Author name: **Lady Azrael

**Author email: **kirazangel@yahoo.com   
**Rating:** R for language, adult scene and situations.

**Warning: **Spoiler for the series including Order of the Phoenix. 

This is a slash fiction. That is a male/male relationship. Don't read it if the idea disturbs you.   
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Chapter 2 ~~A duel, and conversations - part one

"I don't fucking believe it!" Hermione looked up from her textbook, surprised at Harry's use of profanity. 

"It's gone, it's really gone." 

"Are we talking in riddles again today Harry, or are you going to tell me what 'it' is?" Hermione was slightly annoyed at the interruption; she was really getting into 'Alchemy - It's more than chemistry'. She was also concerned. Harry hadn't sounded this angry since... since Sirius had passed away. He had returned from that summer much more subdued, quiet and thoughtful. It was a refreshing change from expecting him to start screaming every other conversation, but his withdrawal made her no less worried about him.

Now it had become a habit for her to spend evenings with Harry in his room, both of them content to be silent and absorbed in their studies. She suspected that it wasn't that Harry suddenly started caring about his grades more than she did; but rather now it provided him with a mind numbing activity for when he could not bury himself in Quidditch practice. 

Of course there was _talk_, whispered between corridors, behind hands and giggling mouths. Hermione didn't care, except when Ron seemed to believe it. He 'respects their privacy'. He begun muttering he had better things to do than to waste perfectly good evenings studying with them, which was a poor excuse to Hermione's mind. 

When the teacher caught wind of the rumours, they were both asked to have little 'talks'. After Harry had gone for a rather prolonged tea with Dumbledore, however, the staff was persuaded to look the other way, assured in the knowledge that there is 'untoward' in Harry and Hermione's behaviour. Hermione could hear Dumbledore's twinkling voice echoing in her mind: "Harry is best not left alone, and besides think of what it could do for his grades". _It was probably that last sentiment that made them relent...teachers._ Hermione mused.

That was back in sixth year. She had endured two weeks of glaring from Cho, and a few other hopefuls. Over time, she found the comfortable silence she shared, and the few but surprisingly honest conversations she had with Harry was more than enough to compensate for other people's delusions. _After all, they see what they want to see._ She regretted none of it, even when sometimes she found Harry's silence scarier than his outbursts. 

Except for now. Hermione peered more anxiously at Harry. His genuine distress could be seen from miles away, in the agitated gestures, and the reckless way he was tossing his few belongings about. His brow furrowed, his eyes glinted with something she could not quite place. 

"Harry." He did not appear to have heard her.

"Harry...Harry talk to me. What's wrong?"

" My photos, the album that Hagrid gave me. It's gone." His voice sounded hollow, as if he did not believe what he was saying either. It was the look on his face that struck her - a tightening of the heart, a squeeze where it hurts most. For a moment, he looked lost, like a little kid who'd suddenly whirled around only to find his mother gone.

*******************************************************

He stared at Hermione, unseeing. In Harry's mind there whirled flashes of confusion (_I_ knew _I left it there_); denial (_It just _can't_ be gone, maybe when I open the trunk again it'll be right there, mocking my stupidity_); of incredulity (_Who the hell would take my photos_); and of anger (_Whoever it is, I'll make them pay_). 

**********************************************************

Harry opened his eyes, staring at a ceiling he had become too well acquainted with through a night of fitful sleep._ Crap, I think I worried Hermione last night._ Which always meant that she would set a closer watch on Harry. He appreciated her concern, but it always made him feel uncomfortable.

Still in the boundary land between dream and reality, Harry thought he could hear voices drifting up from the Gryffindor common room. It sounds rather like, Harry decided, Ron and Hermione arguing. _This early in the morning? Oh they have got to find better things to do. _

"I wouldn't do it if I were you."

"Why Hermione? Just because you spent your nights with him, it doesn't mean now I can't talk to Harry, does it? He's my best friend you know." Even in Harry's semi-somnolent mind Ron's voice sounded bitter. He imagined Hermione's expression harden at the now familiar attack, changing from one of sensibility to extreme annoyance, mixed with exasperation and hurt. Harry could have anticipated Hermione's piqued response. Ron either could not, or did not care enough not to provoke her. 

"I will _not_ argue with you anymore on that subject." She said softly, but both Ron and Harry was shocked by the sheer cold anger in her voice.

"I was warning you, as a _friend_, that Harry will probably not be fit for human company this morning, so don't bother him too much."

"Oh. So it's the return of Harry the Horrible Grouch is it?" Ron sounded weakly apologetic in his attempt to lighten up the suddenly very serious atmosphere.

Hermione sighed. "I don't approve of his brooding all over the landscape either, but for Harry, you know there are some good reasons. I can't really blame him."

"You're really worried about Harry." It was delivered in Ron's best neutral tone.

"Aren't we all?"

Harry decided that it was time for him to get up, even if it was to interrupt two of his best friends talking very seriously about him.

************************************************

Harry felt like he was on edge that whole morning, but after overhearing the little conversation about him in the morning, he tried his best to disguise his anxiety. 

While imitating a pleasant manner now comes easily with practice, Harry thought his ability to unwittingly eavesdrop on conversations must be a natural gift. 

**************************************************************

"Blasiiissssse, did you know where Draco was last night? I thought I'd bring him some dessert since he was a no show at dinner. But when I got there, Vince and Greg told me that Draco wasn't in his room."

"Pansy darling, you're wasting your time. Rumour is that Draco had spent the night with some delectable fifth year from Gryffindor, you know, the one he started seeing a week ago? You have to admire the man, carrying on the affair through his sickness and all."

"Oh my God, what is wrong with him?"

"Chill out Pansy, it's just a cold. When I asked him how on earth he caught it, Draco just muttered something about a rendezvous in the rain."

"I was asking what he was thinking, a _Gryffindor_! Does he have no _standard _left?"

"I don't know Pansy. Sounds sort of exciting, tasting the forbidden fruit and all."

"He has a death wish. He obviously doesn't care what happens if he was caught in Gryffindor tower..."

"But he won't. Be caught that is. I mean, I asked him, out of pure interest of course, how he got past all the Gryffindors. Draco assured me that the lot of them sleep like the dead, it's no trouble at all."

"It's just like you and him not to think about the _consequences_...

... it's not Gryffindors I worry about

Sooner or later, Malfoy senior will find out... " 

******************************************************************

But Harry did not hear the lament in Pansy's voice. He had heard enough. 

Years later Harry could still recall this conversation and wonder about what his future would have been like had he decided not to walk that particular corridor that certain lunchtime. If he would have ever found out who took his album, if he set the wheels of fate spinning with his reaction. 

At present his mind was much preoccupied - Harry wasn't slow; the sorting hat had good reasons for wanting him in Slytherin. Past experience had shown that he had insight, and demonstrated the uncanny ability to connect events and details that escaped other people. 

Images and sounds came together like a bad pastiche painting. The opened window, Draco's presence in Gryffindor tower, his missing album. It all fits. He didn't know why Draco would steal his pictures, but Harry was surprised he didn't suspect his archenemy sooner. _Of course it is him, Malfoy by name, Malfoy by occupation. _

Knowing what Malfoy had transgressed, Harry knew what he would have to. Sheer fury flared from what Hermione would have called his 'dark side'. As he stormed away to his class, detachedly, his mind filed away the image of all younger years scurrying aside in his wake. 

***************************************************

Draco squirmed in his seat. Extremely uncomfortable with the feeling that someone was glaring into his skull. Which, of course, someone was. _Potter by name, pain-in-the-ass wizard by occupation._

He didn't dare turn around though, not in Potions. He didn't know whether he feared the wrath of The Snape (who was now testy enough to give detention to all houses) or what he would find on Potter's face. Guilt usually does not come naturally to a Malfoy; it sinks in kicking and screaming all the while. Uneasy, he tried not to think about what he'd done with the album.

So preoccupied was Draco in _not_ noticing Potter, he failed to perceive all the warning signs of a disaster approaching. For example, Potter's unusual inclination to stare intently into the back of his head. He never saw Potter walking past him, in that one moment when fate was decided (and Snape's back is turned). Just as Draco was reaching for the final ingredient - Flagris Argenteus; Potter casually threw a handful of Foedus Vulgaris leaves into Draco's boiling mixture, grabbed his share of Flagris and then just as casually walked back to his seat. A heartbeat passed in silence. Then...

In the roaring, blinding flash that followed, Draco would hear a snippet from a long past Potions lesson ringing in his ears:

" Flagris Argenteus, when mixed with Foedus Vulgaris interacts to form a blob of soap, expanding energy in the form of heat, sound and light. Extremely flashy affair, but, fortunately for the lot of you (Draco sees the image of a sneer burned into the back of his retina), ultimately _useless_ and harmless."

Draco looked up into Snape's cold, furious face. "Explain yourself, Mister Malfoy. I'm all ears as to why one of my best pupil could pull a stunt worthy only of a Longbottom."

"My apologies, Sir. It was the combination of Flagris and Foedus, sir, someone sabotaged my potion." 

_ I can't believe he did that. _

He knew it was Potter of course. Just as in his heart he knew the reason why. Draco was surprised he didn't start screaming: "It was Potter sir, he did it." Then again, some things you grow out of. 

_"The time has come, for childish things to pass." _Draco wondered where he heard that one. His attention snapped back. Snape was still talking.

"...Indeed. Then perhaps you had better deal with this phantom culprit in the manner befitting your age. Oh and Mister Malfoy, clean up this mess."

_My age Snape? Have you forgotten I am no longer a child, no longer quite forbidden to invoke real punishment in magic? You can only protect us for a time, and after that, let us deal with the responsibility and danger. _Draco knew, in a moment of clarity, why Potter had done it. _He's spoiling for a fight._ _He knows, I know that he knows, he knows that I know that he knows..._

Worst of all, Draco could already see the path their action has chosen._ A duel then, since we're both too old for schoolyard brawls._ For a moment Draco thought they were both mad to fight for something so trivial, then it occurred to him that it had always been this way between him and Potter. As if they needed to find excuse to fight for something far more consequential. Of what, he didn't know. This duel, though, he thought he owed Potter.

_Very well. I am going to challenge Harry Potter, one of the most powerful wizards of my age, to a duel. _Draco wasn't afraid, not at all. 

**************************************************************

The owl the next morning delivered a letter to Harry's table. He read it as though it were a piece of old gossip he had been long expecting. Skimming across the parchment, written in red, to confirm the details, but not really interested, or perhaps already knowing the content. 

Few people looked up from their bacons and eggs when Harry leaned over and whispered something to Hermione. They missed the complete and utter astonishment on her face, followed by a silent numb nod. Then Harry took out a quill and wrote two words at the bottom of the parchment:

I accept. 

It would have been poetic if the letter had ended there. There are however other things to consider. Hermione (to her horror-filled pleasure) was named his second. Since Harry was the challenged, he had right to pick the time and place - The Dark Forest, at midnight. 

"Harry, you're not really supposed to pick girls for seconds."

"Well I figure I'm tired of feeling inadequate about the rules and etiquette some dead wizard had made up a hundred years ago. This is my duel, and I choose you as my second."

Hermione sighed. There was no arguing when Harry is being such a stubborn bastard like that. "Why me? Why not Ron?"

Harry gave her a strange insubstantial smile. "Did you know that it is the duty of the second to persuade both parties to find alternative means of disagreement? To arrange all practical matters were the duel to proceed, such as the inspection of location and satisfactory weaponry; and in the event of my injury or death, carry on on my behalf?"

Hermione arched one eyebrow. "I see you've finally been doing your homework."

Harry's grin this time was genuine. "Aren't you impressed?"

"I would be, if it had been anything other than looking up a stupid duel. Oh for God's sake Harry, don't be stupid... you don't have to prove anything - you don't have to do this."

"There is nothing left to prove Hermione. And believe me, I have to do this."

Hermione thought she knew what Harry was talking about. Resignation made itself home on her face. "Oh _very well_. I don't suppose Malfoy is going to be any better about this. You're going to get us killed..."

"Or worse, expelled?" Harry's tone was only faintly mocking.

*****************************************************

"Blaise, I have something important to ask you."

"Why Draco, you know I'm flattered, but really I must protest, my heart belongs to another and I mean, what would our..."

Draco gave him a piercing glare underneath silver lashes. Blaise shut up.

"I ask you, Blaise Zabini, to be my second. It is your honour and duty to..."

"Yes yes I _know_. Spare me, _please_."

Blaise looked at Draco, trying to look for answers in his guarded gray eyes. 

"Why me? Don't you want some big muscle man like Crabbe or Goyle?"

"I doubt they know one end of their wand from the other. Besides, while you might act like a nancy boy, I don't think you'll let me bleed to death when it counts."

"And ruin your lovely robes Draco? Of course not. And what is this about _me_ being a nancy boy? If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black... oh stop giving me the look that sank the Titanic. I'll shut up now. Let's see your wand then shall we..."

Blaise happily chatted on while starting on his sacred duties as second to Draco's duel. "By the way, who is Potter's second, anyway?"

**********************************************************

Only one more thing needed to be done - their announcement of the duel in public. Perhaps it was by chance, or because both Harry and Draco share the same sense of drama. Whatever it is, both made quite an entrance to the common corridor that night. My life, they both decided, seem to take place a lot in corridors. The irony was not lost on either. 

"Potter." Draco drawled almost casually, as if he found the entire matter tiresome beyond notice. "It is settled then? See you at midnight."

"Malfoy." The barest of nods was Harry's only acknowledgement. 

The two boys glared at one another. However, an understanding past between them. Both will keep silent on the true cause of the duel. A matter of pride, of private matters that neither wished other people to know. It felt strange, a secret intimate moment shared by proclaimed enemies in a crowded corridor of an unknowing audience. 

************************************************************

He loved the feel of night. The darkness whispered of freedom and adventure, and throughout the trials and terrors that he had been through in the night, he still loved it as a sailor loves the sea. Harry looked up in the sky, with stars twinkling like sparkling diamonds, away from the city lights. The moon shone brightly, although not full. _No werewolves out tonight. Check._

Harry walked into the Dark forest, the way seem familiar now. In his hand a lantern squeaked with each step, casting unsteady shadow of itself from its own light, and Harry luxuriated in the warmth of the heat seeping into his fingers. 

Hermione walked beside him in silence. More comfortably finding her way by moonlight than the limited glow of the lantern. It wasn't an awkward silence, but the unspoken words hung too heavy for either to break it. 

They were heading towards the clearing just in front of the thick lines of trees that would mark the beginning of the true Dark Forest. Even in the distance, they could see the two lone figures already standing there, black robes silhouetted against the moonlight. More so, from this distance, Harry and Hermione could hear them. 

"Dracooo ... the lantern is burning my hand."

"_Lumos_."

"Oh you could have just done _that_ in the first place. Why the hell do I have to hold this stupid lantern then?"

"Because, Blaise, I plan to put this wand to _better_ use. And I need you to hold the lantern."

"Blaise Zabini, holder of the lantern. Why else am I here for?"

"Comic relief."

.........................

Then they were facing the source of the bickering.

"Potter. You are late."

"No, I'm just in time. Shall we?" Together the four of them turned and walked into the forest. 

**************************************************************

They were soon in the midst of the forest. It wasn't Harry's intention to go so far in, but it was hard to find a clearing in the mass of gnarling overgrown trees, and they had wanted the privacy provided in the heart of the woods. 

By tacit agreement, Hermione and Blaise both waited at the edge of the clearing while Harry and Draco took their place center stage. 

_It feels like a ritual we've gone through, over and over again. _Draco thought as he and Harry faced each other.

_What did I hope to achieve?_ Harry looked at Draco, mirroring his salute of the wands. All silver hair and pale skin. _Nothing. I was angry, that's all I needed._

_ Seems like this scene has been set for us two long ago._ _All the world is a stage. We're just the two small pieces of the pawn moving, believing it is with the accordance of our own will._

It wasn't the first time they had dueled with each other, after all.

_Is this how it will end? Seems pathetic somehow. Seems like I should have done more with my life. Like maybe get laid._ Draco turned around. Turned away from Harry's face illuminated in the moonlight. Wild dark hair and piercing green eyes. 

_One. _The sound of dead leaves crunching underfoot.

_Two._ The suffocating stillness of the forest, holding its breath.

_Three._ Their heart beating faster, adrenaline pumping through every vein.

_Four_. The way their breath hangs in the September air, a puff of smoke.

_Five_. Hands starting to sweat.

_Six._ Wind gently ruffling their hairs, the boys cannot reach to keep the hair out of their eyes.

_Seven_. The weight of the capes wrapped around their bodies, restricting movement.

_Eight. I shouldn't have provoked Malfoy to a duel, I'm so sick of this. _

_Nine. Why did I challenge Potter to a duel? I don't want to do this._

_Ten. No, it's not too late to change my mind; it's never too late to stop the petty fighting._

Both boys swirled around, wands poised. Harry hesitated, a spell dying on his lips. The moment where they could start or end it all. _No. This isn't what I wanted. To be stuck in the role of the hero fighting his nemesis. Like Snape and my father. Forever and ever, with nothing ever resolved. _

Perhaps they both sensed it then, that they were not going through with it. Yet both needed some release from all the tension, all the anger, and all the hatred. 

Draco spoke first. "What's the matter, _Potter_, having cold feet now?"

"Count yourself lucky Malfoy, that you're still standing here talking." Harry's voice was rising rapidly, angry with himself now for his reticence. 

Draco snarled. He realized that they're still acting, still going through the motions. He was so, so tired of it. The drawl left his voice. "Then why are we here?" His voice was quiet and serious, sounding a lot scarier in the silence of the forest.

"You know why we're here, Malfoy. I thought even _you_ could not have sunk to the level of being a common petty THIEF." Harry was screaming now, anguish and pain showing through the anger. 

"It wasn't enough that you thought you owned the world. You had to make the rest of us realize how inadequate we all were. Well fuck you Draco, I didn't give a knut about any of that, so you had to take away my only piece of happiness."

"You took it away from me! You took him away from me!"

"Him? What are you talking about Potter?" Draco blinked, taken back by surprise. A heartbeat while each one realized Harry's Freudian slip. 

Harry suddenly looked lost with realization of what he had just said. _Sirius. I had lost everything, and you Malfoy, had took away all that reminded me of my family._ He looked devastated. All the anger flowed out of his body, draining the tensions out of the muscles, and Harry's lean frame sagged as if his body was folding on itself.

Then, in a whisper. "Forget it, let's get out of here." _After all, I can't blame him for all my loss. _Draco said nothing, but followed. 

At the edge of the clearing, Hermione and Blaise witnessed the whole thing in silence. Both understood how personal it was, but then both were close to their friend in their own way. Blaise looked like he wanted to hit both of the boys over the head. Hermione was almost crying with relief. Almost. Being eighteen has also toughened her up. Together, the four turned back into the forest. 

**************************************************************

To Be Continued...

Author's notes:

I was going to post the whole chapter up at once, but by the time I finish writing it, it may well be over 20 pages and makes a daunting read. So here it is in installments. Part b will follow soon. 


	5. A duel, and Conversations 2

**Title:** A Simple Thing   
**Author name:** Lady Azrael  
**Author email:** kirazangel@yahoo.com  
**Rating:** R for language, adult themes and situations.  
**Warning** Spoiler for the series including Order of the Phoenix. This is a slash fiction. That is a male/male relationship. Don't read it if the idea disturbs you.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Chapter 2 ~ A duel, and conversations - part two 

They must have taken a different route back. Harry did not remember the trees being quite this close together, or that their branches were quite so low and adept at tearing at his clothing. The path quickly became little more than a gap through tall black trees and Harry wasn't even sure if he could see Malfoy ahead of him or hear Hermione and Blaise behind him. Harry didn't dare start running for fear of tripping over thick treacherous roots and breaking his glasses. Ahead, he thought he saw Malfoy's silvery hair turning sharply where it definitely wasn't supposed to go. 

"Malfoy, where the hell are you going?" Harry shouted out. There was no response. _Why should I worry about him, anyway, of all people?_ Harry asked himself. _Because if you don't you'll never get your album back._ He answered back. _Good point. Oh God damn it._ Harry plunged into the place where he had last seen Malfoy, calling out to Hermione simply: "I'm going after him." He dimly heard Hermione call back: "Harry!! Wait up!!" 

Bush bashing is never fun. Not even in the full glare of daylight with perfect vision. It was definitely worse on a dark night when he had no idea where he was going and was literally forcing his way through shrubs and trees, arms up to prevent his face from being torn in the process, Harry cursed Draco with every name he could think of under his breath. 

Finally he broke through into another alcove of clearing. Actually it was more like the place where trees stopped growing, giving way to rocks and a huge cage beyond. All this escaped Harry's attention at first, because for the first time he heard what Draco must have been following - a soft hypnotic crooning, like the Cuckoo's luring death song. And there was Draco, staring with glazed eyes at the source of this crooning in the middle of the clearing. 

The creature's head was as beautiful as a Greek statue. Classic bone structure combined with tawny eyes and golden hair. The rest of the body took a while for the brain to take in. It was like seeing a picture where the pieces just didn't belong. The pale neck was joined straight into a chest full of mane, with the body of a full-grown lion, and poised above its head is the poisonous whiptail of a scorpion, ready to strike. More than the body, it was the eyes that gave the creature away. It had no trace of human, and spoke only of a predator eyeing its prey. 

*********************************************************** 

Time slowed down, stretching each microsecond into a frozen moment. Harry saw Draco, as if for the first time. The scene was surreal, yet striped of all the everyday pretensions. Draco stood, spun silver hair brushing across wide eyes, falling across pale skin and just touching the black of his velvet cloak. In that one crystalline moment, Harry knew he didn't want Malfoy dead. 

The discovery was akin to putting on his first pair of glasses: the things you thought you knew existed were suddenly snapped into focus, and you saw a world you have never seen before. 

In that moment Harry would have done anything to keep Malfoy alive, and the words of the spell spilled out of his mouth before he had time to think of anything else. 

_"Petrificus!"_

Harry watched the effect of his spell in slow motion. The golden fur shimmered, then abruptly changed into steel silver as it reflected the spell back right at Harry. He saw this all in a heartbeat, but even Harry could not move fast enough to avoid the whole of his own spell. The rebounded raw magic caught him in the shoulder and spun him around, the force alone landing him on his face. 

_Get up and live_, Harry thought,_ lie down and die_. And he must live through this._ I can't die here, not like this, I have unfinished business._ With Voldemort, with Draco, _live to bicker and fight another day_, Harry thought in a haze._ Besides, Hermione would never forgive me._

*********************************************************** 

Draco's head was filled with beautiful, enchanting music, singing to him of all the things he had ever desired. Love was whispered seductively, approval was promised in a sweet note, and security had lured him onwards. 

When the music ended, he almost wanted to cry. The cruelty was like waking up from your favourite dream. But nonetheless the dream had ended, and reality confronted him in the face. 

An honest-to-God Manticore, stalking towards the fallen form of Harry Potter. 

_Oh dear God, please, please don't let him be dead._

Draco's mind frantically tried to recall what had happened. 

There had been a duel, well, of a sort. He had walked ahead, trying to work out why he had issued a duel without any intention of carrying it through to the end. Then. Then he had been ensnarled by the seductive music. Everything else after that felt like he was on about eight grams of Madam Pomfrey's painkiller. 

Now, however, Draco had woken up to a nightmare._ How the hell do you kill a Manticore?_ Draco thought of the succession of useless Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers. No, they so did not teach us this in school. 

Then, he realised that there is no more time to think, and he had to act if he had any chance of saving Harry, which seemed the most important thing to him at the moment. _Without him, I don't have a chance._

Draco found himself rushing towards Harry._ Please be alive, Miracle Boy, see if you can get us out of this one. _He could feel his heart beating so terribly fast against his chest, from exercise, or fear, or adrenaline, he couldn't distinguish anymore. 

************************************************************* 

Harry stirred, fighting for consciousness. He braced his hands against the cold wet earth and tried to stand up. A dizzying rush of blood to the head overcame him and for a second he thought he had hallucinated what he saw. 

Draco. Running towards him, flailing his arms in warning. 

Warning? He looked up to see the Manticore towering over him. 

_Oh shit._ Harry ducked the first of the swings of the scorpion tail._ I need to find a weapon, anything._ He kept moving, letting the tail swish against air where he had been seconds previously. 

Peripherally he was aware of Draco pulling out his wand, and shouted something at one of the trees nearby. A large branch of the oak fell, but completely missing the Manticore. 

_What the hell is he doing?_ Harry thought as the Manticore turned its attention back to Draco, clearly annoyed. 

A levitation spell was softly spoken, and Harry watched the most bizarre fight of wizard against Manticore, Draco levitating the branch, a weapon used like a sword against the tail of the Manticore. 

But the wizard was barely a man, and the Manticore has been around a long, long time. Soon Draco was backed away from the clearing, without much room to maneuver the branch. 

Harry was spurred into action. He followed Draco's example and fashioned a fallen log as a weapon. He moved in Draco's direction, trying to lure the Manticore out into open space again. 

The Manticore had Draco at the advantage already. The space was enclosed enough for its tail to grab hold of the branch and snap it in half. However, Harry's ploy worked and it once again padded towards him. 

Harry didn't expect to deal with Draco's branch in the grip of the Manticore's tail. His whole attention was focused on the spell and keeping his branch in the air, directing it in his will. So he was completely unprepared, when the Manticore to pick up one of the fallen piece and hurled it at him. 

_I'm too late._ Harry thought as his eyes automatically closed. When the pain didn't come, Harry opened his eyes to be once again surprised. 

Draco had rushed to protect Harry from the log, he took the blow that was meant for Harry and he now lay unconscious at Harry's feet. 

Surprise turned into anger, directed at the Manticore, and Harry used it as a new source of energy to fight for both his and Draco's lives. Battling the tail though, Harry wondered how much longer he could hold out, for he knew he would tire long before the Manticore. This time, Fawkes cannot save him, nor can he expect the enchanted Ford to come through the thick woods. Harry hadn't realised how naked and defenseless one could feel without the power of a proper spell. 

The Manticore seemed to have had enough of his prey fighting back, and turned the angry blade of its tail against the log, sending it and Harry back towards the ground once more. 

******************************************************************** 

There they both lay on the ground, one wounded, the other barely conscious. Harry mused on the irony of his life, to die beside his archenemy, who had risked him life for Harry. _"People will always have the capacity to surprise you." _Harry thought of Dumbledore's words. Then he made up his mind. 

_We're not going to die like this. _

_We can't kill it with magic. We'll have to run for it. _The thought was barely formed before Harry stood up and tried to drag Draco up beside him. The moment he was upright he felt sick, head dizzy and faint as if he is drained of blood. _But I'm not a 'bloody Gryffindor' for nothing. We're famed for our stupid blind luck. Let's hope it hasn't deserted me now._

He had to support Draco with his good shoulder, and was going to make a last mad and desperate dash into the forest. However, fortune and luck did not desert him. Overhead he saw a sight he would not have imagined. A herd of Thestrals circled above the clearing, black and silent as the night. Then with an alien, piercing cry they dove towards the Manticore, each one attacking him from the air and flying out of harm's way before the tail could swing its way. 

One of the Thestrals landed on the clearing, beside Draco and Harry. Harry stared into those black eyes that he had always been a little unnerved by._ Not the angels I was expecting._ The winged horse seems to acknowledge him and indicated with a toss of its head its consent to carry them. 

He awkwardly tried to hoist both himself and Draco on top of the Thestral, but found it almost impossible with the use of one arm. The Thestral knelt down gracefully on all four legs, and with a little bit of wing pulling Harry managed to hoist both himself and Draco onto the black horse. With one arm wrapped around Draco's waist to keep him from falling and the other around the Thestral, Harry clung on for both their lives as the Thestral took flight. 

*************************************************************** 

Harry woke up in the familiar surrounding of the hospital ward. Last night's event seemed like a haze. _What happened?_

He remembered only snatches of images. Hermione standing with the herd of Thestrals. Dumbledore's concerned face hovering above him. Madam Pomfrey. And Draco, delirious, being carried into the bed next to his. 

"What happened you big dolt is that.. Oh how could you and Malfoy be_ stupid_ enough to take on a Manticore yourselves? If Dumbledore hadn't been there. My God, if the Thestrals didn't get to you in time." Here Hermione paused and shuddered. "I don't want to think about what could've happened. Do you know how scared I was, and oh God, when I saw you and Malfoy being carried by what looked like thin air." 

"I'd been killed and eaten most likely. Malfoy too. So you saved the day Hermione, when all hope was lost, with a shiny black winged horse. Even if _you_ couldn't see it." 

"Don't talk like that Harry." Hermione sounded tired, and above all, sad. "Sometimes I think you have a death wish." 

"I don't really. Although sometimes I think I'm reckless and stupid enough to think I will only die at the hands of Voldemort." Harry sounded weary. "Still, not the shiny example a Head boy should set is it?" 

"I suppose we are all in a lot of trouble now. Sorry about that Hermione. Don't worry though, I doubt they'll expel you after your last Arithmancy mark." 

Hermione whacked Harry, lightly, over his head. "Idiot. Has there been a year in which you _didn't_ get into a whole scrap of troubles? I don't think we'll be expelled though, since technically dueling isn't illegal now that both you and Draco are of age.." 

"Though undoubtedly much frowned upon." 

"For a good reason. Hmm. Professor Dumbledore wants to speak with you, when you feel well enough." 

"You told him everything?" It was more of a statement than a question. 

"Well, everyone knew about your duel with Malfoy, after you very public display. I told Dumbledore about the Manticore, and that you and Draco didn't _really_ have a duel. And that was all." 

"By the way Hermione, how did you know about the Manticore?" 

Hermione gave Harry one of her patented 'look'. "Oh you mean after I saw you disappear screaming like an heroic idiot," Hermione mimicked: _"I'm going after him"_. "Well, what else were Blaise and I to do but follow you? We both thought you and Draco had gone mad of course. To go dashing off into the Dark Forest. Honestly." 

"Imagine our surprise when we saw you and Draco with the Manticore. Blaise was going to pull out a wand and start hexing it, but I remembered that its fur repels most spells. So I dragged him back to the castle, post haste, and just as we came out of the clearing we bumped into Dumbledore, quite literally." 

Harry interrupted. "Wait a minute, Dumbledore was already there?" 

"You're surprised? We were shocked. Although in hindsight we should've all known Dumbledore knows everything." 

"Do I indeed Miss Granger? I'm flattered that you think so highly of my abilities." Dumbledore appeared, as usual, as if out of thin air. His eyes twinkling, but with more than usual gravity. "Now if you don't mind. I would like to talk to Harry for a minute alone please." 

Hermione blushed, nodded, and closed the door behind her as she went out of the ward. 

*************************************************************** 

"Well Harry, how are you feeling?" Dumbledore exuded the feeling of comfort and security he always did. Harry felt 

"Like the stupid fool I suppose I am. Beside that, not too bad. I think Madam Pomfrey took care of the most of my injuries. She's had a lot of practice on me, anyway. I'm sorry I caused so much trouble." 

Then, after a pause, Harry asked: "Do you want my Head Boy badge back?" 

"No, Harry. However, I hope I do not need to emphasize the real harm you could have been in. You and young Mr. Malfoy." 

"Malfoy. How is he?" 

Dumbledore's eyes lost some of its good humour. "He had sustained some serious lacerations on his back. He also has a very high fever; I suspect he's had a cold for some time now. You were both very lucky not to have been stung fatally. Madam Pomfrey has attended to Draco; he should recover consciousness in a while. Although, he had Mr. Zabini quite worried. He and Miss Granger stayed here all night with you boys, until Poppy quite kicked him out this morning, demanding that he get some sleep. I believed she would have ordered Miss Granger out too, but she can be quite stubborn." 

_No kidding._

"Well it's good news." 

Dumbledore smiled a little at Harry. "I mean, I'm glad Draco's alright. He saved my life, sort of. It wasn't completely his fault that we had the duel." Harry paused, not sure of what he wanted to say, or what he was feeling. Like a broken mirror his fractured emotions were reflecting the pieces of his heart: gratitude to Hermione, and unexpectedly to Blaise also; relief for Malfoy, guilt at the thought he had provoked a sick man; curiosity mixed with delayed shaken terror for last night; and a need to articulate his feelings into words. Harry wanted to talk about what happened, as if words would make the events more real for him. Well, words will take away some of the confusion and terror. 

"Is there something you would like to tell me, Harry?" It was the same question Dumbledore had always asked, inviting confidence but not demanding it. Harry found he could not refuse, so he told Professor Dumbledore everything. About the album, the incident at potions, about the duel, and last but not least the Manticore. 

"I thought I was going to die, finally. Then I saw the Thestrals, not quite the sort of winged creature I was looking for. Professor, I had been meaning to ask you. How did you know to send the Thestrals?" 

"I've heard rumours of late. Whispers of a creature unusually dangerous in the forest, where it does not belong. Firenze had been the one to confirm the presence of the Manticore. Had I heard of your duel in time, Harry, I would have stopped you from going with all my power. As it were, we were quite lucky that portraits have a tendency of speaking too loudly whenever they are gossiping. I went down at once with the Thestrals, which I had Hagrid already prepared days ago, I hadn't planned to take an action so soon." Here Professor Dumbledore looked troubled, as if he were also plagued by the thoughts of 'what ifs' that were always on Harry's mind. However, when he looked at Harry again, his frowns cleared. 

"They are quite mortal enemies, did you know. The Thestrals and the Manticores." 

Harry looked up with faint interest. He had wondered why the Thestrals were attacking the Manticore. 

"I believe they had a long family feud, started when one of the other winged horses helped to kill a Chimaera: a relative of the Manticore. Oh the Chimaera, Manticore and the Sphinx belong to the same family, so the legend goes. Oh yes, that particular Manticore was killed with a magic spear, but alas poor Bellorophone fell of his stead in the end. And the blood feud had continued since." 

"How long ago was all this?" 

"A few thousand years at the least. Nobody is quite sure, it had been so long that it's within almost no one's living memory." 

"A few thousand years." Harry echoed, humbled by such an expanse of time. "That is a long time to hold a grudge." 

"Some wounds do not heal with the passage of time." 

"I wonder who you are talking about. Snape, me, or the Manticore." 

"Hatred and misunderstanding exist equally for everyone. I confess I'm glad you and Professor Snape are getting along.better. However, between you and Mister Malfoy. I cannot allow you two to endanger yourself and others by your enmity, Harry. For too long your houses, Gryffindor and Slytherin, has fought as if you were enemies. We have forgotten how to be one school." 

"United we stand, divided we fall, is that right?" Harry conjured up the faint song of the sorting hat in his mind._ "And we must unite inside her_  
_Or we'll crumble from within."_

"An adage that happens to be true." Dumbledore looked at Harry with eyes no longer twinkling, but quite serious. "It's time to put your differences aside. There are greater evil you must all face, together." 

"You want us to be friends? A little late, isn't it? We hate each other." Harry looked away; the words tasted flat and stale in his mouth. 

The professor looked a little amused, mixed with a lot of sadness. "Friends, I dare not hope. Yet what are wizards without our hopes and dreams? Yes. For far too long the houses had been segregated, fear and prejudice allowed festering. So little people remember now that Gryffindor and Slytherin were once the best of friends. The houses, I'm afraid, has followed their founder's personal example, rather than their cherished beliefs - the virtues the houses are meant to represent." 

"What do you mean? I mean, the houses are what they are, and the sorting hat decides which house we belong, doesn't it?" 

"You, of all people, should know that we are sometimes what or where we chose to be. Ideals can become corrupted, and stereotypes subverted. People chose what to believe in each house, and the houses, in turn, are transformed by those beliefs." 

"You believed that Gryffindors are all pure, noble and true, and thus you chose it. The truth is, not all Gryffindors possess of these virtues, and sometimes your reckless boldness brings trouble." 

"Ravenclaw's cleverness blinds her and hers to other gifts just as.worthy. And people overlook Hufflepuff's strength in handwork, and they in turn forget that work cannot conquer all." Dumbledore paused. 

"And Slytherin?" Harry asked. 

"Slytherin was corrupted the worst of all. Some of it was human nature - the need to prove our superiority. Then there are some people, like Voldemort, who exploited this weakness, and twisted the symbolism of the house. He confused pureblood with purity, he himself born of a muggle and a witch. Maybe he needed to believe that being a pureblood brought power and protection, I do not know. I only know in his pursuit of power, he corrupted the ideals of Slytherin: quickness of mind turned into cunning, and into conspiracies and trickeries; determination turned into ambition and ruthlessness, and devotion into fanaticism. And magic, magic to him was only synonymous with power." 

"He has forgotten, Harry, that there are other forms of magic. Far more ancient and powerful, that even muggles have. This I have told you before." 

"Do you know why I'm telling you all this, Harry?" 

"You want me to see beyond the houses, and see the people." Even as Dumbledore was talking, Harry knew what he said was true. There were Gryffindors who was the most despicable people he knew - Peter Wormtail for one. Then they are Slytherins who surprised him - like Snape, again and again. 

"Indeed. Hogwarts must be united." Here Dumbledore paused again, as if to continue would cause him pain. 

"What is it, Professor?" 

Professor Dumbledore looked at Harry with the saddest eyes he had seen. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to once again become the symbol you are to the wizarding world." 

"I'm the shining example on good inter-house relations?" Harry's smile was slightly bitter. He looked deep in thought for a few seconds. 

"I'll give it a try." 

*************************************************************** 

"Harry. Harry, what happened? What did Professor Dumbledore say? Are you in trouble? And you have not heard a single word I've said, have you Harry?" 

"Sorry Hermione. I was just thinking.yes on occasions I'm known to be having thoughts.." 

"Umm, he told me all about the houses, and did you know that manticores and Thestrals are enemies?" 

"I don't think I'm in too much trouble. Well, it's an unusual punishment anyway." Harry smiled at Hermione, entirely devoid of humour. Well, maybe with a sense of sadistic humour. "It seems that Malfoy and I are going to be the new poster Head boys for fostering good inter-house relations." 

"WHAT?! He _cannot_ be serious! I mean, has he gone completely off his rockets. you and _Malfoy?_ You're going to kill each other.he seriously cannot expect you to." Hermione looked as if she was the one who was about to lose it. 

"He can, and he just did. Look, that's beside the point. About Malfoy." Harry sighed, unsure how to continue. 

"I mean, I know he was and still is an irritable little shit. But he saved my life. I'm not sure who is more horrified by that, him or me. While it in no way excuses his behaviour for the last six years, and the thing with his father, but still." Harry run a hand subconsciously through his wild hair, frustrated that he could not articulate exactly how he felt about the subject. Then he adjusted his glasses, out of habit. "We're eighteen, right? I feel eighty. I'm so sick and tired of the shit we go through everyday. Dumbledore is offering us, and the rest of the school, a chance to end it, and call me crazy but I'm desperate enough to do it." 

Hermione looked at Harry, really looked. If you have ever tried one of the puzzles where you try to spot the difference between two almost identical drawings, then you would have understood her look. She couldn't quite solve the puzzle. 

She had always thought that Harry had never come out of one of his adventure completely unscathed. He had changed each time, imperceptibly to others perhaps, but only by burying himself deeper beneath the surface. And that's what worried her. She didn't want to think about the kind of things he kept hidden from her and the rest of the world. It wasn't healthy to bury grief and anger so completely. 

However, something's different this time, as if he has cleared away some of the excess baggage in this encounter, and cleared way for new things. Well. What do you know; something good came out of a completely hare-brained scheme. Hermione gave in. 

"First of all. You have anger management issues, you know that?" 

"What? I'm sorry Hermione, I know it's unfair to expect you to." 

"Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking." Hermione cut in. "I agree with you." 

"You what?" 

"I agree. I spent the night watching you and Malfoy in a half delirious state, with Blaise Zabini. He stayed with me the whole time." She smiled. "And probably would have held Malfoy's hand too if I wasn't there. They're not all bad. And don't pretend that you're doing this because he saved your life, you saved his as well. I think you wanted peace for longer than you admit." She did not tell Harry that both Blaise and her had thought they heard Draco mutter in his delirium, "I'm sorry. So sorry." 

Harry, in turn, sat thinking about what Hermione had said. 

*********************************************************** 

Draco slowly opened his eyes, dreading the harsh light, but needing to reassure himself that he finally had the ward to himself. 

He stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, feeling uncomfortable in a bed and clothes that he doesn't own, and thought about what he had heard. 

It was as if Dumbledore had known he was awake and listening, and had meant for Draco to overhear the conversation. What he said about the houses. It boggled Draco's mind. He had always thought that Dumbledore favoured Gryffindor, but in one speech Dumbledore had destroyed Draco's comfortable belief. 

The evening came back in fragments. He wondered what was more shocking - that he had almost died, or that he was saved by, and in turn tried to save the Great Harry Potter. 

The rush and adrenaline had long faded, leaving him feeling sick and shaken. He wondered if this was what life felt like for the Golden Boy, always living on the edge. 

Yet, he was intensely happy to be alive. He felt alive, as he never did except at Quidditch matches. Draco almost laughed at the cliché. 

_Am I suppose to ponder on the meaning of my oh-so-meaningless and unexamined life now? _But all that came to him was moments and images, captured while he was barely lucid. 

Harry Potter, vulnerable and utterly defenseless, almost dying, looking far too pale on the forest floor. The image brought him no pleasure, he felt sick instead. He remembered the way Harry had carried him to.something, strong arms wrapped around him, his eyes a storm of green and face set in determination. 

And, between Draco's half closed eyelids, how Harry had looked so tired and sad, sitting on the spare ward bed. 

_Oh God. I'm so confused._ Draco felt lost, utterly unsure of anything anymore. It was as if last night had taken everything he believed in, and shook it up like a snow globe. His world had turned so topsy-turvy, he was having trouble separating illusions from reality. 

His thoughts were finally stopped from chasing each other by the opening of the ward door and the sound of shuffling feet. 

Harry came and sat on the bed opposite Draco's. 

They regarded each other in silence. Aware that the dynamics of their relationship had shifted, but not quite knowing how to deal with it. 

Harry finally found that he could not sit there and look at Draco without saying anything. "How are you feeling?" It was in all probability the friendliest thing he had said in seven years. 

"Like I've been sat on by Hagrid. I can only pray I don't look half as bad." Draco surprised himself and Harry by being so candid; but earned a smile in return. The first real smile directed at him from Harry Potter. "What happened?" He asked. 

"Not quite sure myself. From what I gathered, you almost got us killed." 

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Harry continued. 

"Then I almost got us killed. There was a bit of fighting and we were most definitely getting our collective arses kicked. The upshot of it all is that Hermione and Zabini brought in the cavalry and saved the day, while we are condemned to endure each other's presence for an extended amount of time until we can behave better." 

"Knew I should have just gave up and died." Draco paused to let this all sink in. _I am saved by a mudblood, by Miss Hermione Granger._ Then his curiosity got the better of him. "Where was the cavalry? Did I completely miss it?" 

"The Thestrals were the cavalry. I don't suppose you could see them." 

"Oh. That was it. I thought I had a strange dream about flying on nothing but air." Draco managed a weak smile, before being sent into an apoplexy of coughs. _Damn._

Harry looked surprisingly concerned. He shocked Draco further by saying: "You should get some rest. I came by to say thank you. So umm, thanks, for you know, the whole saving my life thing." 

"Don't mention it." Draco's mouth worked on automatic, as his brain was too stunned to process anymore surprises for the day. 

"I guess I'll see you later then. Take care." Harry left Draco to recover, returning to Gryffindor tower with mixed feelings. 

Draco laid back and closed his eyes again. It's those damned photo's entire fault, he decided. How could such a simple thing shatter his whole world? 

************************************************************* 

To Be Continued. 

Author's Notes: 

I'm eating my words about only writing what I enjoy, because this chapter had been.well.let's just say less than pleasant to write. And SO long. It would have given me much pleasure to just write: and they fought, but that isn't meant to be. Just as I could promise a lighter and fun filled next chapter, but somehow my Harry and Draco just doesn't want to go there. 


	6. Like your afternoon wake up call

**Title:** A Simple Thing  
**Author name: **Lady Azrael  
**Author email: **kirazangel@yahoo.com   
**Rating:** PG-13   
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Interlude ~ Like your afternoon wake up call 

Draco 

Who'd have ever thought that that one act of theft would have gotten me into so much trouble? 

All stories have a beginning. Ours started really, the first time we'd met, from the very first time I laid my eyes on that skinny boy who looked like he could drown in his clothes. I was intrigued._ How could anyone live like that?_ While I prattled on about something or another my father had said, I noticed that he wasn't the least bit interested._ How dare he,_ I had thought, _acting as if nothing about me mattered to him._ And when he had befriended Weasley and Granger, I was outraged. In that one gesture he had unseated the social order that I had spent my whole life following. 

It was my first taste of social rebellion. The damage was done; I had the inkling that one day I too would have to question my beliefs from infancy onwards. Or perhaps to go as far as to break all the stifling rules of my home, built upon filthy riches and glittering lies. 

I wonder if he noticed, or if anyone noticed that I had nothing to say of my own for a long time now. My upbringing went so deep that my own personality had been almost eradicated, 'the victim of a slow, purposeful erasure.' I even believed what I said was true. 

So I did not welcome my conscience, my nagging doubts. It was a lot harder to face up to the fact that you might have been wrong all of your life. He took the easy option away from me (lying to myself), by every action he took, by his words, by his very existence. 

Really, we are more alike than he imagines. His hair is dark, mine is fair; his eyes are a brilliant green, mine a dull gray. But both our skin are pale from not seeing enough of the sun. He was kept in his cupboard (I later learnt to my horror), whereas inside my ancient mansion filled with beautiful things, my mind and voice had been locked up for years. 

Until that duel, that one 'thank you'. I didn't understand kindness until then, not having received any myself. Choosing between my father's callousness and the world of genuine affection I was offered: guess which one I chose? 

So I suppose I didn't really surprise myself by betraying my family name and all it stood for - the foundation of my loyalty was built on too fragile a trust and too blind a love. All it took was my father's refusal, as befitting a true Malfoy, to acknowledge my near death experience and my subsequent sickness, lying in the hospital bed sick with the flu, of all things. His cool reminder of my duties not yet finished quite frankly, pissed me off. Bitterly I was alerted to the fact that, if there was no profit for him - for example the dismissal of a pesky Care of Magical teacher - he simply wouldn't have cared enough to make a fuss. 

So defiantly, I did not give him what I had taken. I owled him a pair of Gryffindor quidditch gloves I had taken from the locker room (after making sure they weren't Potters.) I tied up my letter with barely suppressed trembling, feeling like the hunter who handed over the false heart. 

The source of all my trouble, that cursed photo album, I hid among my most secret possessions. When I'm overwhelmed by the fear of repercussions, out of weakness, I cannot resist taking it out and gaze at the picture of a perfect loving family. 

**** 

Author's notes: 

I feel like it's question and answer time, lol. First of all, I stole the manticore from mythology and took liberty with it, although I consider it fair game since JK Rowling has already acknowledged its existence. 

Secondly, I'm glad Blaise has got such a good reception. Somehow his voice is the clearest to me, so I think I'll happily write more Blaise. Although, there will be no love triangle, as I have my own plans for Blaise. ;). It's a surprise. 

Thirdly, there will be romance. *Shock horror*…I make no promises for anything else…lol 

As to Harry's Birthday…-_-;;… must've been 3am in the morning when I decided he could conceivably be eighteen. *Shrugs*, oh dear, elementary maths escaped me. I'm afraid you'll just have to overlook this one: it's a case of needing something to be true that I actually believed it. 

For anyone who noticed the Snow White reference, I'd just like to point out that fairy tales are not exclusively muggle. And who knows, maybe it did happen in the wizarding world ;). 

Next chapter will be up soon…ish… "Chapter 3 ~ Of swords and play." 


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